Chapter 7 #2
Cookie, who has been lying at Violet's feet throughout dinner, hoping for scraps, lifts her head and lets out a small whine as if reinforcing the request.
I bite my lip, glancing between Logan and Violet. Part of me wants to say yes immediately. Cookie clearly adores Violet, and the feeling is mutual. But letting my dog sleep over at his house feels intimate in a way I can't quite pinpoint.
“It's up to Heather,” Logan says carefully, his eyes meeting mine. There's something in his eyes I can't quite read. “Cookie's her dog.”
“I mean...” I hesitate. “Cookie’s not picky where she sleeps and she does love to snuggle under a blanket.”
“Yay!” Violet bounces in her seat.
“Wait, I didn't say yes yet.” I hold up a hand, laughing. “Let me think about it for a second. Your uncle and I both have to work tomorrow, and you have school.”
But even as I say it, I know what my answer will be. Because Cookie's nub of a tail is wagging furiously under the table, Violet's face is bright with hope, and there’s something molten in Logan’s gaze that makes my insides turn gooey.
“Okay,” I finally say. “But just for tonight. And you have to promise to take good care of her.”
“I promise!” Violet jumps out of her chair and throws her arms around my waist. The hug is so fierce and unexpected that I nearly knock over my wineglass.
When she pulls back, her bright blue eyes are beaming. “Thank you, Miss Heather.”
“You're welcome, honey.” I smooth her blonde hair back from her face, and warmth collects in my chest. This little girl has wormed her way into my heart just as thoroughly as her uncle has.
Logan’s stare is still on me, and when our eyes meet, he mouths “thank you.” The gratitude in his expression is clear, but there's something else there, too. Something that makes my pulse quicken.
“But,” I add, “Cookie needs her special blanket and her bedtime treats. So after dinner, we'll have to run next door and get her overnight bag.”
“Cookie has an overnight bag?” Logan asks, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
“Of course, she does.” I lift my chin defensively. “She's a very sophisticated dog.”
“Right.” His lips twitch at the corners. “Sophisticated. That's the word I'd use for the dog who stole hot dogs from strangers at a baseball game.”
“That was a momentary lapse in judgment,” I argue, but I'm fighting back a smile. “Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Uh huh.” Logan takes another bite of steak, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “So what else is in this overnight bag? Silk pajamas? Moisturizer? A sleep mask?”
“Mock all you want, Maddox. But Cookie has standards.”
Violet giggles, her gaze ping-ponging between us like she's watching a tennis match. “You guys are funny.”
“Your Aunt Heather is silly,” Logan says, and my heart does a little flip at the casual way he says it. Aunt Heather. Like I'm already part of this little family.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it turns me into an absolute puddle.
We finish dinner in comfortable conversation, and Logan and I clear the plates while Violet and Cookie play in the backyard. The sun is setting now, and the string lights Logan hung across the patio cast everything in a soft, golden glow. It's oddly peaceful and romantic all at once.
“That went well,” Logan says quietly as we stand at the sink together. He's washing and I'm drying, falling into an easy rhythm that feels far too natural.
“The dinner or the sleepover request?”
“Both.” He hands me a plate, his fingers brushing mine. “Thank you for saying yes. I know it's a big deal.”
“It's just one night,” I say, but we both know I'm downplaying it. And we both know it’s only the first of many.
“Still.” He turns to face me fully, leaning his hip against the counter. “Violet hasn't asked for much since... well, since everything happened. But she asked for this, and I hated saying no.”
I set down the dish towel and meet his eyes. “She's a special kid, Logan. You're doing an amazing job with her. I know it couldn’t have been easy taking on this role.”
“I'm trying.” He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled. “Some days I feel like I'm just making it up as I go.”
“That's called parenting,” I say softly. “And from what I can see, you're nailing it.”
He steps closer, and suddenly we're right back where we were on the patio—inches apart, the air between us crackling with tension. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone.
“Heather,” he murmurs, and the rugged, sensual way he says my name makes my knees weak.
“Yeah?”
“I really want to kiss you right now.”
My breath catches. “Then why don't you?”
“Because if I start, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop.” His voice has gone low and rough, and it does things to me that should be illegal.
“Maybe that's not such a bad thing,” I whisper.
His eyes darken, and he leans in, his lips just barely brushing mine.
“Uncle Logan, come here! Cookie found a frog!”
We spring apart like teenagers caught by their parents. Logan grits his teeth and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, clearly trying to compose himself.
“Coming!” he calls out, his voice strained.
I press my hand to my chest, my heart hammering. “We really need to work on our timing.”
“Or get a mute button for the next thirty seconds,” Logan mutters, making me laugh despite my frustration.
We head outside to find Violet crouched in the grass next to the swing set, Cookie sitting alertly beside her as they both stare at a small tree frog clinging to a solid two-by-four.
“Look how little it is!” Violet breathes, her voice full of wonder.
Logan and I exchange a glance, and despite the interrupted moment, I can't help but smile.
The heat between us can wait. Right now, there's a little girl and her supportive sidekick mesmerized by something so small most adults would walk right past it, and a man who doesn't hesitate to kneel in the dirt to share that wonder. This matters more than any kiss.
“He's pretty cool,” Logan agrees. “But we should let him get back to his frog business. I bet he has a whole frog family waiting for him.”
“Okay.” Violet watches as the frog hops away into the darkness. Then she yawns, big and wide.
“Wow! Someone's getting sleepy,” I observe.
“Am not,” Violet protests as she rubs her eyes.
“Why don't we go get Cookie's overnight bag?” Logan suggests. “Then we can get you both ready for bed.”
“And read a story?” Violet asks hopefully.
“Of course,” I say. “I’d never let Cookie go to sleep without a bedtime story. She’d pout all night.”
Violet’s giggle floats in the air like a feather, and she takes my hand as we walk next door, Cookie trotting beside us with Logan bringing up the rear. It feels surreal, this little procession. Like we're already a unit, a family.
Mrs. Henderson is perched on her rocking chair getting her night air, as she likes to call it, and I wave to her.
The old woman, sporting a bright orange and teal dressing gown and her trademark hair curlers, stares at us like we’ve just sprouted wings.
I can only imagine what she’ll be telling her friends.
Inside my house, I gather Cookie's essentials: her favorite blanket shaped like a taco, her bedtime treats, her special stuffed hedgehog that she's had since she was a puppy.
“This is a serious overnight bag,” Logan comments, watching me pack everything into a blinged-out hot pink canvas tote.
“I told you. Cookie has standards.”
When we return to Logan's house, Violet is practically asleep on her feet. Logan scoops her up, and she wraps her arms around his neck, her head dropping onto his shoulder.
“Come on, Vi. I think we’ll have to forego a bath tonight. Let's get you in your pajamas.”
I follow them upstairs with Cookie and the overnight bag, feeling strangely like I’m trespassing. I've been in Logan's house plenty of times, but I've never been upstairs. Never seen the private spaces where they sleep and dream.
Violet's room is exactly what I’d expect: soft purple walls, a canopy bed draped in gauzy white curtains, and stuffed animals arranged on shelves. But my eyes are drawn to the pictures taped to the far wall. Dozens of them, all featuring the same subjects: Violet, Cookie, Logan, and me.
My throat tightens. I’d spotted the one in the school hallway today and I’d been touched by her attachment. But this seemed like a homage or maybe even a prayer.
In every single picture, we're holding hands. Sometimes we're at the beach, sometimes at the park, sometimes just standing in front of the house. But we're always together. Always smiling. Always a unit of four.
This is how Violet sees us. Not as her uncle and the lady that lives next door or even the librarian. But as a family, one she's claimed in her heart because she needs something stable to hold onto in a world that took her mother away.
The weight of that hope settles heavily on my shoulders.
Logan and I are old friends and neighbors, that’s all. Sure, we’ve shared a kiss, but there has been nothing more. To encourage this attachment, if something went wrong, it would break Violet’s heart. And Cookie's, who has found her life’s purpose in wrapping around Violet like a furry shield.
The thought should send me running. Instead, studying these crayon drawings of a future Violet has already built in her mind, I feel something else entirely—a fierce, protective determination not to let her down. Not to let any of them down.
While Logan helps Violet into her pajamas and brushes her teeth, I arrange Cookie's blanket at the foot of Violet's bed. Cookie immediately jumps up and circles three times before settling into her spot with a contented sigh.
“Looks like someone's made herself at home,” Logan comments as they walk back in.
“She's shameless,” I agree.
Violet climbs into bed, and Cookie immediately scoots up to wedge against her side. The little girl wraps an arm around the dog, and Cookie rests her chin on Violet's chest.